[center] [i]Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock. So long Holly.[/i] [/center]

[center] [img] http://img13.deviantart.net/6668/i/2009/158/2/5/sin_city_by_auia.png [/img] [/center]


Sebastian McLaine took the hard stone steps up to Drekmishrev’s in a manner that was slow and heavy, his joints aching with the strain. He’d been in the wetworks business for a fair few decades now, and his features were haggard and leathery. 

Drekmishrev’s was a ritzy clothes shop in the middle of Dawn Peak Heights; Santa Somabra’s upmarket central business district. It wasn’t beyond the gangs per-se (there was less than little in Santa Somabra that hadn’t been ensnared in crime’s talons) but most thugs were smart enough to keep well away from the Dökkálfar’s establishment. 

Sebastian waded inside, and was greeted by one of the most stunning blondes he had ever laid eyes upon. She took his breath away, as he inhaled her perfectly sculpted figure. The tits, the waist, the face, the eyes, the curves. She had it all, as she stood, leant over her desk, showing just enough cleavage to still be considered artsy and tasteful, her golden curls tumbling over her shoulders. 

“Afternoon, sir.” she cooed in a nonchalant tone, regarding him with a faint smile. 

“Afternoon…” He managed, grunting slightly. 

“What can I do for you?” 

[i] A whole lot of things, that it ain’t right for young ladies to do for old men [/i] he thought to himself. 

“I’ve got an appointment with Drekmishrev.” He said plainly. 

“Can I have a name, please?” 

“McLaine.”

He shamelessly stole a few glances at her skirt-clad behind as she led him into the shop beyond; a castle of polished wood woven together with glass and fancy ornaments. Long, winding staircases swept up up its sides, and sprawling rows of shelves and displays, awash with designer clothes, stretched across the walls. 

As Sebastian passed through the doorway, the blonde’s captivating features were almost instantly forgotten. 

Men and women, like sculpted greek statues, strode elegantly through the shop, each step a seduction in itself. Redheads, Brunettes,  and Blondes, all dotted about the place. Some were slender, some had curves. Some were skinny, some were full-figured, but they were all undeniably beautiful.

[i] Watch your blood-pressure, old man… [/i]

“Mr McLaine for you, Sir.” 

Sebastian was forced back into reality, as Drekmishrev’s gorgeous form strode down the staircase towards him. 

Today, Drekmishrev was male. He had finely-combed sliver-grey hair, which swept across his darkish black elven features. A hand tailored grey suit hugged his muscular body, and a warm smile creased his dark lips. 

“Sebastian!” He greeted him heartily, his arms outstretched in a welcoming ark “I told you you should come visit me in my place of work.” 

“Dreky.” McLaine game him a warm little nod. “Nice place you got here.” 

“Enjoying the view?” the Dark elf shot him a little wink. 

“Pretty much all I got left at my age.” He smirked, creasing his worn face. 

“We’ll see about that,” Drekmishrev grinned “If you’ll accompany me?” 

It was only a short elevator ride down to the basement. The room they stepped into was a cavernous expanse of gleaming metal panels and glaring white lights, with a leathery surgical chair at its center. 

“Take a seat, my friend.” Drekmishrev said calmly. 

“No tools?” McLaine raised one greying eyebrow, as he slumped down into the chair. 

“None other than these.” Drekmishrev declared proudly, extending his hands out into the air in front of him. 

“Now, Sir…” the Dark elf ran his fingers gently over the old man’s face “What can I do for you, today?”

[center] [b]*[/b] [/center] 

McLaine awoke some time later, considerably younger and more female. Neon blue hair tumbled over her plump shoulders , and her firm figure curved outwards. 

“I should’ve come to you sooner.” She called over to Drekmishrev, as she admired her smooth, heart-shaped face in the handheld mirror he had presented her with. 

“Does madam have a name?” He asked in his silken voice. 

“Harriet.” McLaine replied “It was my mother’s middle name.” 

“Well then,,” Drekmishrev replied “what does Harriet McLaine know of the Somabra Slayer? My mistress, Nyxvira Bloodbloom, wishes to know.” 

Harriet grinned, a sharp, knife-like grin, fresh on her full lips “I’ll start at the beginning.”